The rain was knocking on my window panes relentlessly, as though begging to be let in. Like it could not stand being resolutely shut out of the warmth of homes in the dead of the night.
You would think that a symbol of solidarity would have gotten used to loneliness by now.
This isn’t a particularly clear memory, or the most detailed account of our encounters. But sometimes, it takes the most muddled of circumstances to allow a few single details to shine through. And that would be enough. Because memories are things to be left alone. You turn them over again and again in your mind, trying to find something new. You try to access some deep crevice within your brain where the entire experience lies, nestled comfortably, waiting to be aroused from a drugged sleep. But the old makes way for new, and we subconsciously filter memories, sometimes losing the most important insignificant minutes of our lives.
I don’t know why or how, but we were talking thunder.
"Now." I said, and the same word left your lips just a quarter of a heartbeat later. Miles apart, we do see the same streak of lightning across the sky, and hear the same accompanying thunder. Somehow I found someone to test out this theory with, and I found it in you.
Moments later, listening to the distant echoes of thunder with the magic of childlike wonder spread over me like covers, I mused that I would never ever find someone as selfless like you.
And I was right.
There will always be a part of me that wishes you were more like thunder than lightning; gone too soon, shining too bright for it’s own good.